Captivated
by Little Gaki
Summary: Instead of taking Harry's hand in Room of Requirement, Draco escaped the Fiend Fyre through the Vanishing Cabinet, landing himself in a world where being stronger can get himself killed. AU, Slash. Pairing can change.
1. Prologue

**Title: Captivated  
**

**Pairing: Draco/undecided...  
**

**Summary: Instead of taking Harry's hand, Draco vanished through the Vanishing Cabinet and ended up in a world where good genes triumphed over all. **

**Warning: Slash(meaning this is your last chance to leave before and anything that happens after this point is NOT MY FAULT.)**

* * *

**Prologue: Onward!  
**

Flames surrounded him. They fed off the lost and forgotten of the Room of Requirement and burned. Smoke rose in droves as it blackened the walls and ceilings, shifting in displacement as one Harry Potter soared through the room on his broom. The _damned_ Golden Boy, Draco thought with a sneer as he climbed higher on the apparent mountain of chairs Hogwarts had lost in the thousand year it had stood. At the top was the Vanishing Cabinet, one of a pair of cabinets that was probably large enough for two large males to fit inside, that he was supposed to repair before the _bloody-nosy_ Boy-Who-Lived had found them. He was glad that Potter had stopped them before Crabbe and Goyle forced him to attach the final piece.

Luckily, during their 'so-called' duel in which Potter had with his two enforcers, Crabbe had lit himself up with an accidental spell of Fiend Fyre. Goyle fainted when his best friend began screaming and Potter must have dragged him out since Draco hid himself within the oddities that randomly appeared in the Room.

Unfortunately, the Fiend Fyre had spread to the point that most surfaces nearest to the bottom had caught on, forcing Draco to scramble upwards. He could have easily levitated himself but his wand was long lost and even if he had it, major spells were out of his range. His magic, sealed within the blood-made ink that formed his Dark Mark, lies dormant, stirring only for the briefest moments when Potter _thought_ he was willingly letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts and was about to attack him.

Otherwise, he was helpless. And Malfoys _hated_ being helpless.

Within the smoke, he caught sight of Potter, on his broom, holding onto a large body that must have been Goyle, heading for the door. Draco bit back a bitter retort, knowing that allowing more smoke into his lungs was unsafe. He did blamed the soft tears that stung his eyes, however, at the smoke. Yes, Potter was Potter and Draco was a Malfoy. His friendship was refused; why would Potter save him?

Shutting out unwanted thoughts, he focused on the task at hand and continue climbing, breathing in short intervals when he can clasped his sleeve over his nose and mouth to filter out the ashen air. The wood beneath his fingertips were warming from the heat rising off the flames that seemed to licked its way up faster than he could climb. Several already broke under his weight and only his Seeker reflexes saved from plumbing to his death.

He was perhaps a meter from the top and the Cabinet when a he heard his name called out. Glancing back, Potter was flying towards him, dodging flames and fallen objects in the air. Quite impressive, for Potter at least.

However, the flames seemed reluctant in letting the Gryffindor closer to Draco, flaring up every so often that forced Potter to veer out of the way and therefore farther from where Draco cautiously holding onto a weakening arm of a chair. Draco rolled his silver-blue eyes. If Potter ever got to him, this whole place probably burned down already. Shaking his head in exasperation, he resumed his climb and at the top, he balanced himself carefully against a wooden bench for the small key concealed in his Mokeskin* pouch.

Finally, what seemed to be hours but perhaps only seconds later, his hands latched around a cold, iron object. Pulling the key out of the pouch, he stuck it into the keyhole of the Cabinet and yanked the door opened. A black hole of what seemed to be endless night confronted him. Draco hesitated at the sight.

Glancing behind him, he rolled his eyes again when he spotted Potter still wavering in a desperate attempt to get nearer to where he was. Draco felt appeased for that time years ago when Potter refused his hand, his mouth curving slightly. He would never admit this out loud, even if he survived this.

Dragging a deep breath from behind the sleeves of his cloak, which was begin to smell slightly uncomfortable in the heat, he raised his voice. "Save yourself! I can save myself!"

Frustration seemed to permeated the actions of the boy on the broom as he dodged another random flare that nearly seared his side. Draco swore he saw something went up behind all the smoke. He shrugged. He did not know if Potter had heard him but that was his problem and quite frankly, he did not quite care anymore if he gets out of this place for not. He had to attempt, his pride would not let him go if he had not even tried to escape. Nevertheless, his last regret had been appeased (Potter refusing his handshake) and both of his parents were out of Voldemort's reach. His father was dead and his Mother safely tucked away in a safe house of the Order of Phoenix, thanks to his Godfather.

Taking a deep breath, flinching slightly at the flames that licked at his Dragon-hide boots, Draco climbed into the Cabinet, arm curved around the front to twist the key, locking the Cabinet. Then, he pulled the key out, tucking it back into his Mokeskin pouch. He closed his eyes as the door shuts and knew no more.

For what felt like days, Draco finally exited out of that darkness that bound his senses. Finally, he could smell the scent of grass and rain in the air, feel it moved against his skin whenever something else took its place. He could hear, could tell that he was _alive. _Even his magic came back, warm and comforting against his Core but without direction, it lie still, wary but contained. Some part of his mind kept him unconscious, at least physically as Draco felt himself prodded and pricked by several unknown. His pain seemed minute, however, which made him even more impatient to wake up but his body refused to listen to him.

He drifted through his dreams, waking up several times but never quite remember the experiences. Behind his eyelids constantly flashed the images of men in long white coats, curious faces and gloved hands that pried open his eyes, his mouth. Over time, he could feel the cold, smooth surface of the steel he lies on, the warmed, vise-like leather that strapped across his chest, waist, wrists and ankles, keeping him absolutely still.

Despite the idea of his strange imprisonment, Draco never felt the tightening of his muscles or flexing of his fist. His body was in a constant state of relaxation that made it impossible for him to _do_ anything. Frustration grew and during one of the moments where his consciousness was close to the surface, his magic flared up to loosen the bindings. That was, before his right arm prickled and he sank back into blessed oblivion. It was too late, however, his magic was already on the move, adapting him to whatever it was that was being put into his body and the time between the moments of awareness became shorter and shorter. He never showed that he was awake, keeping his eyes closed and his body relaxed.

Thanks to the constant darkness and yearning for knowledge of what was happening around him, his senses began improving. He began to notice the slight differences in footsteps whenever someone entered or exited his prison cell. He noticed the scent of some type of alcohol (disturbingly similar to Fire Whiskey) in the air. He was also aware and his anger flared every time a sharp needle pierced his flesh, pouring some type of _poison_ into his veins.

Ironically enough, his imprisonment allowed him to practice patience, which Severus had often commented that he severely lacked. He waited and waited, counting the seconds whenever he was awake and finding the time increasing more and more. He also measured the time between his consciousness and the arrival of the men (or women) that imprisoned him and nearly grinned when he found them to be parallel. In the beginning, just as he came to, someone would inject something into his veins and forced him back into his cage, but the time was increasing. He had several theories, of course, the first being that he was adapting and his body was getting rid of the poison in his body faster and faster.

That second theory was more pessimistic, in which his jail men knew exactly when he was awake and choose to lengthen them for their amusement, just to see what he do. Of course, the pride he put in his acting smothered _that_ thought completely. Needlessly, his pride refused to let him give up, forcing him to wait and wait.

He nearly gave up several times and almost released his magic but forced it back into his core. He needed more time, more time between when he was awake and his injection, to escape this prison forever. Part of him wanted revenge, but the sensible part told him it was more important for him to escape.

During one of these bouts of frustration, his entire room shook. His eyes snapped open, revealing a room, reinforced by steel on all six sides, save for one corner where a door stood. The room shook again, similar whenever a Quake spell was cast. Alarmed, his magic responded by snapping the leather bindings, perhaps a bit too hard. Draco flinched and gently climbed off the metal table he lied on. His legs nearly gave out when he stood and long, silver-blonde hair fell over his eyes, brushing a few inches past his bare shoulders. Draco blinked owlishly and cursed when the room shook again.

He grabbed onto the steel table, which was nailed to the floor, to keep himself upright. _Just how long did he sleep?_ He pondered as the quake subsided.

On jellied legs, he padded towards the doors, whispering, "_Alohomora."_

A metallic click could be heard and the door slide open with a hiss. Using the walls to support himself, Draco made his ways through the tunnels of pure white corridors. He fell several times, landing harshly on his knees whenever a quake rolled through the compound he was in. Ten or fifteen minutes later, Draco's patience had nearly run out, especially with his knees bruised and scraped. However, Apparating was out of the question because he had no idea where he was and attempting a grander scale spell without an object to focus his magic was just plain stupid. Anything hardy and nature-made can be used to focus his magic. A wand would be preferable but who would keep a free wand this close to an imprisoned wizard and he refused to believe that those stupid _Muggles_ was his jailers.

Without much options, he trudged against the white wall and rounded the corner.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a man went flying right past him, slamming into the corner's wall, crumpling with a soft moan. Blinking, he looked up to find himself under the scrutiny of another man, this one in a pair of black glasses that was strangely enough, darkened and glowed with an eerie red. Perhaps a year or two older than his own seventeen years, the man's dark hair was quite nice, both silky and soft-looking. His height and muscled body underneath the leather jacket and Muggle jeans he wore was intimidating but even with the concealing glasses, his face was expressive and handsome…for a Muggle.

The man's mouth, which was shapely enough in Draco's opinion, seemed to fell open in surprise as he looked Draco up and down. In any _other_ situation, Draco would have appreciated such scrutiny.

"I know I'm naked but its quite _rude_ to stare," Draco rasped out softly.

The man flushed just as another rounded the corner at the other end of the hallway, a woman this time. Her movements matched an unseen force as she slammed another man, one dressed in a black vest and suit similar to the unconscious man at Draco's side, into the wall, knocking him out as well.

While the man looked normal enough, the woman was not like anyone he'd ever seen, with a mane of shocking white hair that seemed to clashed fantastically with her darkened milk-chocolate complexion. She looked to be about mid-twenties to early thirties though he leaned towards the former. Her body was also pleasing, he if was attracted to women, slightly muscled without an ounce of fat, firm breasts and shapely legs encased in purely leather. What really amused him was the came she wore, dark blue on the outside and white inside. She had a flare for dramatics, he supposed, much like his own. With azure blue eyes, she peered curiously at Draco and gave the man with the sunglasses a questioning glance as she walked towards them. "Mutant?"

_Maybe not a Muggle, _he thought, and the relief took all the strength out of his legs and he collapsed.

The man caught him before he hit the ground, holding him upright as he slung one of Draco's flimsy arms over his shoulders. Blinking wearily, he allowed himself to be half-carried, half-dragged by the man in glasses.

"He's not a guard or a scientist." the man in the darkened glasses replied. Draco assumed that the man must be American since he lacked the European accent. "The Professor only sensed one right?"

The woman nodded, appearing as a jerky movement from between Draco's desperate blinking to stay awake. "I'll keep going to make sure we don't miss anyone, take him out." She said with a slight twang to her voice but again, not British nor any of the European country by any means.

Nodding, the man with glasses shifted Draco in his arms until his free arm was hooked beneath his knees and he was carried through the barren hallways in bridal style. He was tempted to give in but he had slept enough so he forced himself to stay awake as they exited the compound through a small, metallic doors. Outside, Draco only saw trees, trees, trees and behind them, a door against the side of a mountain. _A secret base?_ he thought and mentally shrugged. He had learned long ago that secrets were bad, but they were necessary. He was out, the secrets of his prison did not concern him as long as they do not come after him again.

A grim smile pervaded his thoughts, they _will_ regret it if they ever come after him.

They walked for a while. Well, the man with dark glasses walked and Draco watched, both the man and their surroundings. They entered a clearing and the man stopped at the edge. He looked down at Draco and he nearly shivered at his own frail reflection within the glasses. "Can you stand?"

"Yes," Draco replied.

The man set Draco on his feet, keeping one arm around his waist, hands warm against his bare skin, as he rummaged through the pockets of his jeans. "What's your name anyway?"

"Draco," he replied, closing his eyes and leaned back on the heels of his feet. His voice was still raspy. Draco could feel the dirt beneath his feet and despised it. Clothes was probably the top of his list of 'things to-do,' right behind some pumpkin juice and a warm bowl of soup. Though he was not really interested, Draco asked anyways. "And yours?"

"You can call me Scott." He replied absently and shot him a grin as he finally pulled out a set of Muggle-looking keys. "Found it." The keys were attached to a black, plastic object with small buttons on it. Scott, or Cyclops, pressed one and to Draco utter shock and amusement, a huge, flying Muggle utensil appeared in the clearing.

"What, is that?" Draco said, gaping that the monstrosity even if he will never admit it to good company.

A grin tug at Scott's lips. "This is the SR-71 Blackbird. The best and probably the fastest thing you can find in the in the sky. It can go over 32 hundred miles within an hour."

"Miles?" Draco nearly rolled his eyes at the American. He assumed 'miles' was a way to measure distance, much like kilometers, which sensible people (both Muggles and Wizards) use. There were inches, of course, but only wand-makers like Ollivanders use them since a foot, or twelve inches is the average length for a wand. "What is that compared to kilometers?"

"Oh…uh…" Scott flushed. "Five thousand km per hour?"

Draco was impressed, even if it was apparently a rough estimation. The bloody thing was faster than the most modern Firebolt. "Very nice."

This brought back the smile to Scott's face and he nodded at the plain with a smug look of male satisfaction. "Yes, it is." After several more buttons, the side of the Blackbird shifted to revealed an opening in which Scott practically carried Draco into flying instrument. The inside was quite nice, mostly black, with leather seats and blinking lights and colored buttons panels at the very front. At the very end they entered were leather benches attached to the walls of the Blackbird, where Scott settled Draco down before slipping off his leather jacket and put it over Draco's shoulder.

"Thank you," he said diplomatically as he pulled the blanket over his lap, ignoring Scott's flush when his gaze was drawn to the movements. Draco let himself smile as he looked up to meet Scott's hidden eyes. "And thank you for rescuing me as well."

Scott swallowed. "Y-you're welcome."

Leaning against the cold wall, Draco let his hands slip beneath the coat for warmth. While he did not mind his nakedness (he had nothing to be ashamed of), he did mind the silence that followed and choose to break it. "Did you know how long I was imprisoned?"

It took Scott a moment to process and he stared at Draco curiously. "No…"

"They kept me asleep constantly and it was pure chance I woke up when you and your friend arrived." Draco said in explanation before he fingered the ends of his hair. It was at least a year, he supposed, if no one had deigned to cut his hair. He released the lock between his fingers and looked up at Scott again. "So, are you a Muggle?"

This brought on a frown. "A what?"

_Not a wizard._ Draco almost sighed in relief. "A normal human," he answered.

To his surprise, Scott shook his head. "No, I'm a mutant."

"A mutant?" Draco asked in surprise.

"Someone with …special…abilities." he said, staring at Draco strangely.

Well this is news. "What's yours?"

"I…uh…can shoot lasers out of my eyes." he answered.

Draco's brows rose until it reached his hairline. "What are lasers and why would you shoot them out of your eyes?"

"Ah…I guess lasers are a form of concentrated energy. My eyes gives them off, destructively," he tapped his glasses. "That's why I wear these. To protect those around me."

"A noble endeavor," Draco replied, thinking of Voldemort and Fenrir, perhaps his father as well. "If only everyone could think that way about their own powers. And your friend? What is her power?"

"Storm? She can control the weather," he replied with a small grin.

"Weather?" Draco was surprised, not many wizards or witches can control weathers, they simply do not have the raw power. In his own year, perhaps only he, Potter, and that blasted Granger girl were strong and disciplined enough to even attempt that. His mouth quirked in a smile. "That's why she is called Storm. Very apt name."

"Yeah." Scott said. "So how 'bout you?"

Draco arched an eyebrow at Scott. "Me?"

"Yeah, what's your power?"

"I do not have one. At least, I don't think I do," he said. A safe, ambiguous answer that was a lie yet not. He was normal, strong for a wizard, but not abnormally so like Voldemort or Potter. Freaks the both of them. But while he was not exactly a Mutant, as the Muggle termed them, he does have powers, several, as do any witch or wizard. Since Scott was not a wizard, revealing the Wizarding world to him was out of the question.

"Really? Then why were you in that place?" Scott asked, his tone a bit wary now.

"How do you expect _me_ to know?" Draco replied with another question, but keeping his tone even. "One moment I was in school, and the next I was waking up in apparently what seemed to be a laboratory. I've never even met my kidnapper, beside the two men you and your friend knocked out, and you expect _me _to know _why_ I was there?"

Scott stared at him from behind the glasses.

"You're forgiven," Draco said before Scott could voice an apology (probably) before settling back, ignoring the indignant look on Scott's face. He drew the coat closer and closed his eyes. "Wake me when we arrive wherever it is we are going."

* * *

**A/N**: choices for pairing with Draco (who is obviously the main character)

Scott/Cyclops, Logan/Wolverine, Remy/Gambit, Kurt/Nightcrawler and unfortunately: Magneto/Eric. Pick one.

*Since I have seen Mokeskin pouches being mentioned in any fanfic I've read, it happens to be the name for magical pouches that was used in the books. Don't believe me? Look it up.

Otherwise, please lease leave comments, concerns, and other verbal abuse.


	2. Chapter 1

**Title: Captivated**

**Pairing: Draco/Undecided (see last chapter for instruction)  
**

**Summary so far: **Instead of taking Harry's hand, Draco escaped the Fiend Fyre caused by is _trusty_ sidekick using the Vanishing Cabinet. Unfortunately, he was captured by forces unknown (yet) and was rescued by Storm and Cyclops.

**Warning: See last chapter -.-'.**

**To Tabet: Hopefully this chapter will answer your questions.  
**

* * *

**Chapter One: The School for the Gifted**

Draco woke to the agitated tones Scott and apparently, Storm as well. From the snatches of conversation he caught up front, Scott thought he was a detestable spoiled brat and that made Draco grinned because he was. Storm, however, was annoyed with the constant whining that Scott was doing and Draco agreed. Yawning, he stretched his arms, fingers and toes, and was surprised by the flex of his magic did inside his core.

_Interesting. _He stretched again and found his magic following his every move, providing strength and soothing every twinge and ache in his unused muscles. Mentally, he wondered if he could transfigure the coat on his lap into proper clothes. _Oh my._

His mouth fell open when the magic abruptly rushed through his score, transfiguring the coat in his lap into a long-sleeved, white button up, long black slacks and his exact pair of Dragonhide boots. Exactly what he was thinking about. Draco grinned. This surpassed what he had hoped for. At first, after whatever the Vanishing Cabinet did to unsealed his magic, he was just happy getting it back and was resigned to look for a wand or other to focus his magic. But now, his magic was responding just as if he had his wand.

_Wandless magic!_ He mentally crowed in glee. _Take that! Golden-Boy!_ His mouth curved in a very smug smile as he gave himself a cursory glance in the reflective surface of the Blackbird as he pulled them on. His eyes were drawn to the smooth, unblemished surface of his left arm, right beneath his elbow where his Dark Mark was supposed to be.

Without it, he was free. Taking a deep breath to cure his shakiness, he gingerly touched his arm, up and down to make sure it was not an illusion before smiling softly to his reflection. The Dark Mark _could_ be removed, Severus _can _be saved. Smoothing a hand through his hair to untangle what little tangle there was, he padded to the front of the plane.

Storm was the first to notice his entrance and Scott only stopped talking and followed her gaze only after he came to stand behind them. Draco's eyes, however, were glued to the windows in front of them. "Are we in the air?" And judging by the clouds rushing by, quite fast as well.

"Yes," the woman answered while Scott zeroed in on his newly transfigured clothes.

"Where did you get those?" he asked.

"I've never been on a plane before." he said. "Its quite nice." Though he preferred flying his broom more, but watching clouds pass by at impossible speeds are always nice.

Scott looked slightly flushed and agitated at being ignored while Storm merely looked amuse. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfect," Draco replied as he reached out and brushed his hand against the window before returning to meet her gaze. "Thank you for asking Mademoiselle Storm."

No one was immune to the Malfoy charm and Storm was not an exception as she smiled back at him. She clicked several buttons and flicked several switches before turning in her chair towards him. "Just Storm, please. Draco right? Do you have a last name, Draco?"

"Malfoy is my family ma'am." He replied. "My full name is Draconius Lucius Malfoy."

Her eyebrows rose and something flickered in her eyes. It disappeared within seconds and she smiled at him. "Quite a mouthful. Scott here tells me you don't have a power, is that so?"

Chuckling, Draco nodded. "Nothing I would consider power, my dear. Though I do have a few magic tricks up my sleeves."

"Really?" she said. "Would you show me sometime?"

Draco grinned and he settled into one of the seats behind her. "I would be gladly to, my dear Tempest." _If I stayed long enough._ Since no one felt as though this conversation needed to continue, Draco was content to watch the clouds disappear by through the windows, ignoring Scott indignant expression. When it was apparent that they were losing elevation, he spoke up again. "Where are we landing, may I ask?"

"No," Scott grumbled.

Storm shot him an admonishing look before glancing back at Draco. "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

"Our last stop?" Draco pondered out loud. _A school? For Mutants?_

"Yes, if you wish," Storm replied, glancing askance at Draco.

"We'll see won't we?" Draco smiled amiably at her.

As they landed, Draco thought the school was quite similar to Hogwarts, not in size or majesty but in purpose; it was a place to educate Mutants, as Hogwarts educate young witches and wizards. In size, it was maybe a tenth or a twentieth the size of Hogwarts (comparable to the Malfoy ancestral home in Wiltshire) and its construction appeared relatively new compared to Hogwarts thousands of years of history. As they entered the school though a back landing strip that lead through a mountain to directly underneath the school, Draco could not help but marvel that the Muggle technology that surrounded him. Surely, he was very, very far from the Wizarding World. His eyebrows rose several times at the weird instruments and utensils that Storm and Scott used as the Blackbird came to a stop.

Silently, he followed the two Mutants off the Blackbird to a large room. From there, they commute through another box, which moved them upward and they got off when the box's doors slide open at B1. There, he was ushered into another room, a bit similar to the room he woke up in but filled with various electronic instruments lined up against the wall and a bed in the middle.

Next to the bed was a chair. Sitting on the chair was a tall, pretty redhead with a very nice complexion which was probably in her late teens. She jolted awake when the doors slide open and stood, causing Draco to faintly wonder if all the women in this place was destined to be taller than his own 156 cm.

Draco looked warily around before stepping inside. It even smelled like the room he was in but his training as the Malfoy heir prevented him from bolting. He did, however, eyed the bed with disdain. "You're not going to strap me down onto the bed and put something weird into me, are you?"

The girl looked slightly startled, her intense green eyes darting towards Draco. "Of course not!"

He felt pressure against his shoulder and his magic reacted before he could, sending Storm flying across the room to collide against several metallic shelves filled with various bottles and glasses. The girl rushed over while Scott tried to tackle him. Keyword, tried. Unfortunately, his magic reacted again without permission and erected a _Protego _shield, knocking Scott out as he landed quite roughly against it.

_Oh Merlin… _Forcing himself to be calm, Draco walked towards Storm and knelt down beside her. The woman was out cold. The girl was staring intently at him but after a moment, her mouth tightened to a frown as she opted for a physical attack. Again, her hand landed against a shield.

He met her eyes apologetically. "I really did not mean to do that. I'm not…doing this," he gestured at the shield, "on purpose."

The girl stared at him curiously now as he reached out to touch Storm, releasing a silent _Enervate._

The woman's blue eyes snapped open and Draco quickly grasped her hand to keep her lying still. "Don't try to get up, did you hit your head?"

She gazed at him suspiciously.

Draco gave her a regretful look. "I apologize, I did not meant to do that. Forgive me my dear Tempest?"

While the redhead's eyebrows rose sky high, Storm eyed him but allowed him to help her get up. "Just don't do that again."

He spread his hand. "I make no promises but I will try, dear Storm. I honestly have no idea why that happened. My…tricks do not usually make themselves known unless I wish them to."

Storm gave him an unreadable look of annoyance that reminded him of McGonagall, but perhaps a lot prettier and less of a bitch. Her gaze was them drawn to the crumpled form of Scott on the floor and her eyebrows raised at him in question. Draco shrugged unapologetically and kneeled beside Scott. "He attempted to attack me. I reacted. He's not dead nor permanently damaged unless he hit his head harder than I thought."

Laying his hand on Scott's chest, he whispered another _Enervate _and stepped back as Scott shot up, looking around wildly with confusion. His eyes locked on Draco again and he let out another growl.

This time, his tackle was stopped by his sudden elevation off the ground and he hovered in midair, about a feet off the ground. "Let me down Jean, he's dangerous."

"Not until you stop trying to harm my patient Scott. He clearly did not mean to hurt your or Storm. You can wait outside while I check him out." the redhead replied. With a flick of her hand, she sent him flying out the doors and closed the doors. She gestured to the bed. "Take a seat." She commanded as she slipped on a tri-pronged object onto her neck. She stuck the first to prong with plugs into her ears, the other circular and metallic dangle between her breasts. "Off with the shirt."

With a raised eyebrow, he did as she asked. "I'm perfectly healthy."

"I'll be the judge of that." She replied. "Boots too." When he was about to undo his pants as well, she flushed and stopped him. "You can keep your pants on."

Storm nodded. "Might not look it but Jean's in her second year of med school and she's better than most doctors. Just sit still so she can make sure you don't die on us while you're here. Jean?"

Jean was frowning, her green eyes drawn together as she listened to his heartbeat, inspected his tongue, throat. And with a wooden hammer that looked suspiciously like a toy, she tapped several of his joints as Draco stared at her, trying to keep his confusion out. _Bloody Muggles!_ "Reflexes are fine, his heartbeat is extremely weak, steady but weak. Perhaps from severe exhaustion but if that were true, he shouldn't even stand. There are signs of malnutrition but not terribly so. I'll make up an eating schedule for you. Now lay down." As he complied, she dragged a small, white, machine over. It composed of two parts, with one sitting on the ground with wheels attached, the other extended on a branch to hover over Draco.

A tingling sensation went over Draco as a fuzzy image of black and white appeared on the other wall opposing the doors. While he had not extensively studied healing magic, but he was quite sure that it was a picture of his skeleton.

"Healthy, if a bit underweight for a teenager," she glanced at Storm. "No younger than thirteen, no older than nineteen."

"Is that how old I am supposed to be?" Draco asked.

Jean looked startled. "You don't know how old you are?"

"No idea," he answered honestly, shrugging. "I don't know how long I've been in that place."

"Are we done here Jean?" Storm asked and when she shook her head, the older woman rose, tucking a stray lock of white hair behind her ears. "Well when you do finished, I'll be across the hall, making sure Scott stay out of trouble."

"He's healthy, like he claimed. I just need a blood sample to confirm that and we're done." Jean smiled, as if to an inside joke and nodded.

"Blood sample?" Draco echoed as the door slides close after Storm. "Why would you need my blood?" Muggle blood was nothing but a wizards blood can be used for several key rituals in summoning demons, making sacrifices, creating magical bonds, etc. Just the idea of the thousands of times that Muggle needles have been used to draw his blood or pump something into his veins set him on edge and his magic flared lightly in reply. "Do I have to?"

"Are you afraid of needles or syringes?" Jean asked tartly.

"Malfoys are not afraid of anything," Draco answered with a glare and realized he had fallen into a trap when she pulled out a contraption with a needle attached at the front. A syringe, he realized. While he did not try to defend himself against her when she tapped lightly on the veins in his upper arm, his magic resolutely refused for it to pierce his skin by creating a barrier about half an inch off his skin.

Jean frowned at him after a second needle was bent. "Draco."

He nearly wince from the tone of her voice because despite the lack of accent, she sounded like Madame Pomfrey whenever Crabbe or Goyle dragged Draco to the infirmary with the Weasel and the Golden Boy in tow. Swallowing his nervousness, he looked to the other wall and forced his magic to stay calm, to not react with a slight twinge tell him it had pierced his skin. A slight ache ran up his arm and he throttled the urge to bash Jean's head in with the metal basin sitting in the corner of the room.

"There, you can look now," she murmured, smoothing a hand over his hair.

Draco enjoyed the attention, even if he felt like a child in front of her and she was barely a few years from childhood herself. The last person who had touched him with care or comfort was his mother and it was _years _ago, before his father had made the decision to present him to the Dark Lord. She asked him several questions, about his childhood, his kidnapping and Draco answered as best as he could, sidestepping all subjects about his skills and abilities.

He had enough on his head right now, without the Ministry going after him for both _affiliating with the Dark Lord and revealing the Wizarding World to these Muggles._

"All right, all done," Jean said, not liking the answers she got but couldn't get more out of the boy in front of her. She could delve into his mind, of course, but that was rude and with her current abilities, she preferred the Professor does it. He has a lighter touch and several more decades of experience. Draco won't be hurt or even notice the Professor's presence.

Quickly pulling his clothes back on, he arched a curious eyebrow when Jean presented him with several small plastic packages that labeled 'Nutrients Bars.' "Finish those," she said, tapping her feet.

"Now?" Draco asked, holding the bars in his hand. Once again, she gave _the_ look and he unwrapped the bars and gingerly biting into the first bar. He found that he liked Muggle food, which while were not as well-made as Wizards, had a decadent taste of chocolate and peanut butter. What he did not expect was to leaned over the side of the bed and retched out everything he just ate after finishing half of the bar. "Was that supposed to happen?"

Jean was frowning again as she used both hands to grasp his sides, thumb pressing down onto various part of his stomach and lower chest. "Lay down." When he reached for the first button of his shirt, she added. "You don't need to undress for this part."

Draco watched as she pulled another machine over, this time, the hovering part sat a feet above his stomach and whatever it showed on the screen it was attached to, it made the pretty redhead frown even harder. "Oh dear."

"Something wrong?" Draco murmured.

The girl looked at him with something akin to pity. "You weren't kidding when you said they kept you comatose, aren't you? You showed signs as if you were starved, over a long period of time." her frown deepened. "How are you even walking?"

_Magic._ Draco answered silently as he shrugged. "I don't know."

Right after he answered, the doors slide open again and Scott poked his head in. His posture was more or less worried and a bit hostile towards Draco and the wizard couldn't blame him. Of course, it was purely self-defense. Scott, however, had changed into skin-tight, black leather suit with various yellow bands and an X over his chest. His glasses were exchanged for a single piece across his eyes. "What's taking so long? Almost time for the third class Jean."

"I'm sitting out on this one," Jean replied with a small, regretful smile. "Tell Storm I took him to Foley?"

A serious frown crosses Scott's face. "Something wrong?"

"Yeah there is, talk to you later?" Jean said, glancing cautiously towards Draco.

Scott nodded, his posture still wary as Jean took Draco's arm and lead him out of the room, pass Scott. Down the hallway, Draco let out a strained breath he had not know he was holding and allowed the redhead to steer him through the maze-like hallways not dissimilar to the prison he left. The only difference was the walls were painted and occasionally, a drawer or a piece of furniture decorated the side of the hall or sitting at a corner. All the metallic walls changed into wood after they exited the moving metal box she ushered him into.

It was decorated, more or less, like his home, with old paintings (unmoving) and armories (not as old) as did his home. They met no one as she made her ways up a set of stairs to a room with a single sign on the door that said: Infirmary.

She pushed open the doors and pulled Draco inside. "Are we interrupting anything?"

The room was sparse, with a bed in the corner, next to a desk in which a blond, blue-eyed man sat at, scribbling away with a fountain pen. Initially, he had a frown on his face but that changed into a bright smile when he saw Jean and perhaps curiosity when he met Draco's silver-blue eyes. "Hello Jean," he said.

"I'd like your opinion on a few things," Jean said, pushing Draco into a chair in front of the desk before staring intently at the man. They were talking with their minds, Draco realized with a tinge of bitterness, and that they were talking about him as well. He quickly swallowed and leaned back in his chair. Well, if they insisted on all this secrecy, then Draco supposed they can have their damned privacy to themselves.

Crossing his arms, he pictured King's Cross Station in all its sarcastic glory and allowed the magic to whisk him away.

* * *

**Comments? concerns? Or other verbal abuse?  
**


	3. Chapter 2

**Title: Captivated  
**

**Summary: Instead of taking Harry's hand, Draco escaped the Fiend Fyre caused by is _trusty_ sidekick using the Vanishing Cabinet. Unfortunately, he was captured by forces unknown (yet) and was rescued by Storm and Cyclops. First day at mutant high did not go so well, in Draco's opinion.  
**

******Warning: See Chapter 1 or Prologue. Sorry, this chapter is a bit shorter than the other chapters.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two: It was supposed to be here!**

"Where did he go?" seemed to be a question that plagued the former Xavier estate the moment the boy disappeared from Foley's office with a soft, echoing pop. It seemed to snap Jean out of her concentrated exchange of imaged with Foley, which made them both wince from the sudden pain that resulted with the cut of connection. Their reaction, or something or other, had also alerted the Professor, or Professor X, that something was wrong from where he sat on the Observation Deck inside the Danger Room.

Frowning, he leaned towards the PDA as his other hand hit a few buttons on the dashboard, disconnecting the power from the weaponry in the Danger Room. "Everyone, go get change, we're done for the day."

_Is something wrong Jean?_ He murmured softly.

Down below the Observation Deck, both Nightcrawler and Shadowcat sighed in relief, since they both had something planned for the days. Rogue, with a disinterested look, stalked off the room. Bobby hooked both hands behind his head, whistling as he left, leaving Scott to make his way towards the pad that serves as an elevator, leading up to the Deck. "Is something wrong Professor?"

The Professor's wheel chair screeched softly as he turned to face him. "The new Mutant you and Storm retrieved earlier seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Jean's panicking."

"He teleported?" Scott asked, his face scrunched up in a frown.

A feeling of dread filled Professor Xavier at Scott's surprise. Normally, as normal as they can get anyhow, a Mutant possesses one or two abilities, as with Bobby's singular control over ice or Jean's telekinesis and telepathic powers. The new Mutant they had just retrieved seemed to have several, some he could control and some controls him.

Molding shields was a branch of telekinesis, something that reacts on their own without the boy having any control over it. He could make something out of thin air, like clothes, as Scott had claimed. He could heal, or something of the like, judging by the state of his body and Jean's fascination. Apparently, the boy could also teleport. If the boy could knock out two of the strongest (or at least well-trained) mutants at the school within thirty seconds, untrained, imagined what he could do to when he allowed himself to be trained.

_Did he give a reason for leaving? _The Professor asked. Verbally, he asked Scott as they both moved into the elevator, "have the jet ready in case he's out of our reach. I'll have Storm and Logan meet you at the hangar bay." The elevator give off a hiss as it moved down and sideways, towards Cerebra's Chamber.

Scott tilted his head, closing his eyes as he pulled off the sunglasses he _just_ put on and slipped back on the single-framed contraption over his eyes. "You think he can go that far? Even Kurt can only go two miles or so."

_No Professor, he just disappeared without a word. I can't sense him anywhere on the grounds. Can you use Cerebra to find him?_

"Unfortunately, we do not know the limits of his abilities to judge," he replied to Scott. _Scott is prepping the Blackbird, find Logan and Storm. The boy might be too powerful for you and Scott to take care of alone._

_Yes, Professor._

As the elevator opened, Scott headed towards the right to the hangar bay, running into Wolverine, while the Professor's wheel chair rolled forward, to the end of the hallway, where Cerebra's chamber sat. She lit up as the Professor entered, as if welcoming him into her abode. The Chamber was slightly egg shaped, with a single bridge that lead from the door to the center of the room. At the end of the bridge, in the center of the room sat a rectangular table, in which a helmet connecting him to Cerebra sat.

From the lights, the panels along the walls of the cavernous chambers began to light itself up as he slipped on the helmet.

It did not take Cerebra's long to find Draco's signature, since he shone brightly among the thousands that made Earth their home. Too bright, perhaps. What intrigued him was his current location, which was halfway around the world. For a millisecond, the signature seemed to disappear before reappearing once again, in another part of the British city.

_Jean?_

_Did you find him Professor?_

_He's in London._

**In London…**

Draco stared. Like _stared,_ really, really hard at Lucy's Hair Salon that had popped up where Leaky Cauldron supposed to be. Unfortunately, it did not move, shimmer, or become intangible when Draco touched it.

_Which was what supposed to happen,_ Draco glared hatefully at his reflection in the glass windows of the salon.

After Apparating out of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Draco landed in an dark alley at the edge of London. Before he had the chance to look for the Leaky Cauldon, his rumbling stomach had sent him into a local "Pizza Parlor," where he found a bakery that seemed to specialize only in baking flat bread in the shape of a large circle. "Toppings" varied from customer to customer. The place was half-filled, with it being about dinner time here in London. The pizza smelled good enough, delicious even with the fact that Draco hadn't eaten since he went through the Cabinet, he entered. Using his Legilimency skills, he navigated through ordering a plain cheese pizza for himself and paid with transfigured money.

Though he was quite disgusted with how the "Pizza" was cooked, it was well enough for him to stomach it. Afterwards, ignoring the curious gazes of various customers, Draco found himself another alley and concentrated on the street where the Muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron supposed to be and Apparated.

He landed in the streets, fortunately with no one about but in front of him, instead of barely blinking lights of an ancient pub (it was built in the 1500s), stood a cheery sign "Lucy's Hair Salon" right next to a strawberry. He cast several spells over the ghastly looking place, making sure Dumbledore's squib brother hadn't gone insane and decided to change his occupation. For his own sakes, of course; Draco shuddered, could not even imagine a worse person to go anywhere near his hair.

After he had ran out of spells, Draco decided that the Wizarding World had probably moved the pub to another location and if they had, it meant that the war had probably ended (who in their right mind would move a key entrance between worlds during a civil war that will decide the fate of both wizards and muggles alike?). He Apparated to Wiltshire and only found a lazy grassland that stretched form where he stood to the edges of the forest.

By the time midnight comes around, he had ran out of places. No home, no pub, not even the Forbidden Forest and Hogwarts was there. Frustrated, he plopped himself on his arse in the alley where he had first arrived in London. There was not a single sign that the Wizarding World had even existed. The War destroyed everything.

To his surprise, tears blurred his vision as faces of his parents and close friends flashed through his eyes. He would give anything right now to hear Pansy's sarcastic comments about his boots or Blaise boast about his most recent liaison. Even his mother's embarrassing tendency to kiss his nose would not be amiss. As the thoughts build up, the dam finally broke and Draco began sobbing, sitting with his chin on his arms that curled around his knees, pulling them up to his chest.

"And he felt the need to send _all four of us_ after this runt?" a rough voice said, coming out as a soft growl and barely understood words.

Draco's head snapped up and he found himself overshadowed by a large, stocky man in a full set of black leathers with sideburns at the ends of his curly brown hair. In the shadows of the alley, a pair of glinting brown eyes stared down at him. He narrowed his eyes despite the tears still streaking his face, refusing to back down from the ferocity of the man's gaze despite the sudden thrill that ran up his spine. "I dare you to call me that again."

"Runt," the man grunted.

Draco narrowed his eyes. _Ascendio._ He released the magic through the palm of his hand, slamming the dark-haired man against the other side of the alley and holding him uplift against the wall. The man struggled uselessly as Draco nearly face-palmed himself. His head snapped up again as a sharp sound of sharp metal unsheathing interrupted his internal admonishment of his careless use of magic.

"Of course, you're a mutant," Draco muttered under his breath. He met the man's eyes and allowed himself to be wallowed in mind magic as flurries of images passed through his gaze. It confirmed that he was a mutant, named Wolverine, though other aliases seemed to pop up in different sets of memories. His oldest memories, however, was locked up behind a wall that without much effort, would stay there. Draco did not delve too deeply nor studied the Wolverine's memories; they were of no interest to him. To his displeasure, however, he found that the mutant affiliated with the School for mutants and that a man named Charles Xavier sent him to capture Draco, or kill him if there was no other choice.

_As if they could._ Cutting the connection, Draco wiped the tear stain that were on his cheeks before noticing that the man was continuing to struggle uselessly as he floated in thin air. It made for a comical sight and lessened the intimidation of the set of claws that protruded from his knuckles. "Promise you won't attack me and I'll let you down."

The man stopped and cocked his head in a way that reminded Draco of a puppy his mother once given him. That was, before his father found out and it was the last time Draco got a pet of his choosing. Pity, he didn't even remember the name he had given the pup.

Faintly, he wondered if his memories of his mother would fade as well over time. This world was unknown to him, without anyone to help or protect him out of unconditional love. Draco suddenly smiled bitterly. There was no one else in this world like him, and the closest thing to a wizard in this blasted place was a mutant, hated by most of society. Lost in thought, he did not hear Wolverine's answer until the feral growled at him. Waving a hand carelessly, he did not watch as the man landed squarely on the ground but turned his back and left the alley.

He didn't quite get out, since something equal to a giant boulder tackled him and held him bodily against the dirty wall of the alley. "Let go of me before I really get mad Wolverine." Draco frowned.

"Oh yeah, what are you going to do?" the grip around his neck got stronger. "And how the hell do you know me?"

"Saw your memories, and the Professor doesn't really want you to kill me so let go before I decide to retaliate." Draco murmured, resisting the urge to squirm against the grip around his neck. To his exasperation, the position reminded of the first time Blaise had took him, biting down on his shoulder while thrusting inside him. It had hurt, at first anyway. Fortunately, he faced away from the mutant and the shadows hid his blush marvelously.

After what seems to be a very long two minutes, the grip around his neck loosened and Draco stumbled away, rubbing his neck. "Are all Americans this uncivilized?" he grumbled. He'd probably have bruises around his neck by now.

"Canadian, actually," Wolverine replied and to Draco's shock, the man leaned down and picked him up around the waist.

With his shoulder pressing against Draco's stomach, he rose, efficiently throwing Draco over his shoulder as he began walking out of the alley. "What in Merlin's hell do you think you're doing?" Draco snapped, digging his elbow into Wolverine's shoulder. "Put me down or you'll bloody wish you've never been born!"

"Quiet down or I'll shut it for ya," Wolverine replied in softer tones but completely ignored his instructions as he continued walking.

"I should have you castrated," Draco replied in exasperation before taking a deep breath. At the very least, he wasn't chased by Aurors or Death Eaters and he was not burned alive with Fiend Fyre. "I assume we're going back to the blasted mutant school?"

"You're the mind reader," Wolverine replied without a care in the world.

"Mind reading is rude," Draco sneered. _If sometimes necessary._ "I saw your memories, things that happen to you. I don't hear your thoughts and quite frankly, I don't _want_ to be inside your head. Now put me down!" When he didn't get a replied, he jerked his knee, felt it connect but no reaction. Draco ground his teeth before taking another deep breath; the swaying rhythm of being carried like a sack of potatoes was getting to him. Not to mention that the sight of his hair along with the ever-moving pavement was quite dizzying. "Put me down! You know I can kill you with the snap of my finger."

It was untrue, since to use _Avada Kedavra, _one has to _want_ the victim's death as well and while the _Canadian_ mutant was infuriating, he did not warrant death. Wolverine seemed to sense this somehow and resolutely refused to put him down.

"Damn it! I demand that you put me down this second!"

"You demand huh?" Wolverine replied infuriatingly.

For the first time in years, Draco felt like bodily hurting somebody. As if sensing the limit of his temper, Wolverine spoke up again. "If you tell me why you were crying, I'll put ya down."

The question shuts Draco up, for at least five minutes before he broke out of his wolf-imposed stupor and scowled, though no one can see it. "Its none of your business and I was _not _crying, now put me down!"

"Nope."

* * *

Unbeknownst to them, there was someone watching from a tall window, their gaze curious as they watched a man, probably in his late thirties doing what was much like a kidnapping. The kid was probably fifteen, sixteen, with platinum blonde hair and despite the obvious maturity, the kid's face was familiar to most Europeans across the continent, since it was plastered on every billboards across the country for an entire year, half a decade ago.

Smiling in glee, the man used his phone to snap a quick picture before dialing.

Lucky for him, despite the time being somewhere between one and two in the morning, a soft, feminine voice answered him. "Malfoy Incorporated, how may we help you today?"

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**Comments, Concerns, Other Verbal Abuse?**


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